With this ring I thee wed
by Tillyintheclouds
Summary: Three steps. It's eventually all it took.


Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The moon was high in the sky when Mrs. Carson eventually turned off the light of her sitting room. Another day was now gone, another party... Time was slipping through her fingers so fast her head kept spinning. For twenty five years now, she's been walking these corridors, climbing these stairs. Was she tired today ? Had she had enough? Enough of this life, of her duties, of waking up early and going to bed so very late? She honestly couldn't say. Of course, like anyone else, she'd hope for a bit of quiet time, a moment of peace. But who wouldn't ? She was lucky to call this place her home.

* * *

 **One woman.**

Twenty five years ago, she'd been standing in front of Mrs. White, in that very same office. Younger, though not young. Lady Mary had been nine then, Lady Edith eight and Lady Sybil only five.

Somehow, even though she'd never been as close to the family as the other, more trained members of the staff were, the young ladies had managed to soften her homesickness. Becky had only been a young lass when she'd had to leave her at Lytham St Annes. She had arrived at these front doors tired, cold and heartbroken. Not very promising. And yet, here she was today, the respected housekeeper of the abbey, twenty five years in service, freshly married. Life had eventually been good to her. From Scotland, she had walked some strange and lonely paths, all of them leading to what she was now. Step by step, she had found her footing. If it had been true decades ago that servants were only meant to serve, and the upper class to rule, the housekeeper had never felt excluded from upstairs. Out of place maybe. But never hidden, or despised. Lady Grantham had always expressed how important it was to her that they got on well. They were a part of the same house, all these hearts united under its beats. All these hearts united. But only one truly mattered.

How cliché would it sound now for her to say that she had always loved him. But that would not be entirely true. She could still recall the haughty footman who opened the door for her when she arrived. Looking her up and down, judgingly. How she had hated him then, with his white gloves, his clean shoes and perfectly ironed livery. The picture of perfection, harshly contrasting with her state. The farm girl from Argyle, unable to speak with the proper accent. She knew that's how he had thought of her back then.

* * *

 **One woman. Two best friends.**

War had eventually ended between the footman and the housemaid. From enemies, they had slowly learnt to become allies, their joined efforts already setting the high standards they would maintain when becoming butler and housekeeper. Charles had eventually turned into Mr. Carson, and Elsie had become Mrs. Hughes. Her temper softened, his pride swallowed, old foes had become best friends.

Twenty five years. Some marriages could not even last that long. But somehow, without either of them noticing, time had flown by in a blink of the eyes, and they had got on so very well. How many footmen, how many maids had they trained? So many souls they had seen blossoming downstairs. Some staying with them for quite a while, some drifting away, building their own lives, with their own memories. All of them safely tucked inside her albums, labeled with, sometimes, a new address were one could be reached. A way of keeping the souvenir alive.

Elsie knew that somehow, she would always regret not having any bairns of her own. She would have wanted to give Mr. Carson and herself that; boys named after him. Girls spoiled rotten, just like his precious Lady Mary. But these young people, all these juvenile souls who had walked behind them, who had listened and learnt, had they not been children for them? Had they not taught them all they know, in order for them to succeed. Told them off, comfort them, dried their tears? Yes, they had had more children they could have ever wished for. She was a mother, and he was a father, a damn good one.

* * *

 **One woman. Two best friends. Three steps.**

It was all it had taken, that night, for Mr. Carson to take her into is arms, when they had shared their first kiss. Three steps. One for each decade they had spent together. How fitting.

Mrs. Carson could not remember a happier day than the one of her wedding. After all the nerves she had had because of their different disagreements, they had finally said 'I do'. He said he was the happiest man alive. Bursting with pride. Tickled. Mr. Carson loved her. He loved her.

Could she take anymore joy? She had seen in his eyes the love, bliss, and giddiness that she was herself experiencing. She had felt his hand on her hand when he had slid the ring on her finger, the cold metal resting gently against her skin. Trembling, callous, his palms had taken hers, conveying what words would never be able to express.

When a wee lass, Elsie had always wanted to try on her mother's wedding ring. A childish desire to be a woman probably, to grow up before her time. A wish to feel as special as her ma, to be loved, just like the older woman was, and given a token of these feelings.

" _With this ring I thee wed_ ".

But May Hughes had never yielded assent to that demand. ' _A wedding ring is a very special gift, luaidh. It's only meant to be worn by one person_ '. Then, taking her daughter's hand, she had let her index finger ghost along the tiny vein pulsing at the base of her annulary, meandering along her palm and wrist. ' _The metal presses right onto that little vein, caileag, and it leads directly to your hear_ t'. Her hand, continuing its journey, had gone up her arm, past her shoulder and her collarbone, to finally rest on her chest. ' _It is the most powerful bond existing between two persons. Love is everything darling, and you should never take the ring off your finger. Wear it with fondness'._

' _To the bride and groom'_.

She was loved. Just like her mother had been. Her heart would beat madly when thinking of him. Her cheeks would start burning, her knees would wobble... The ring. Indeed, no words were needed. " _With this ring I thee wed_ ". She had known it before, but now she was feeling it. When they locked eyes, after the vows. When they kissed, outside the church (for everyone to see !). When they danced, after the reception. He was the happiest man alive, and she, the happiest bride. Tickled. Bursting with pride.

Her heart would be his, forever.

If it had not already been before.


End file.
